The Quiet Lyrics
by bettersmiling
Summary: Christmas always smelled the best. And sometimes, the scent of pine and peppermint meets with a Nelson, Murdock, & Page Christmas dinner... one that results in Matt realizing he can never really repay his friends for all they've done for him, and that maybe that's okay. One-shot set during Christmas, because the nostalgia that comes with this season makes me miss Daredevil.


The Quiet Lyrics

Christmas always smelled the best.

Quite different from the strong scent of candy and sugar blanketing the air during Halloween, or the smell of cut grass and dew announcing Easter morning, Christmas marked its entrance with an explosion of cinnamon and orange slices, peppermint and pumpkin spice.

It also didn't hurt that the strong, howling winds and heavy snow kept many of the city's criminals at bay – nobody wanted to be out of the house during a strong blizzard, least of all Matt Murdock, Hell's Kitchen's friendly neighborhood Daredevil.

Okay, maybe not friendly, at least compared to Spiderman, but he tries his best.

Taking note of a patch of ice in front of him that his cane slipped against, Matt slightly shifts his path along the sidewalk. Nose and chin tucked snugly into a soft scarf, he carefully heads towards Nelson, Murdock, & Page. The falling flakes of snow dust his hair and jacket, he feels them fall but they melt too quickly for him to use as guides for his radar sense. In fact, the snow only serves to block his ability to tell relative distance – and it muffles the sounds of the city, so that Matt finds himself actually relying on his cane a lot more than he wishes to.

As he enters the office building, his nose is hit with what feels like a wall of christmasy smells – nutmeg and cocoa, among others – evidently the work of one Franklin Nelson.

Oh, and his accomplice Karen Page, how could one forget?

Matt pushes open the door to the newly reopened firm, his fingers brushing against the doorframe as he walks into the office space that has become his home away from home. As he settles his cane against the wall, he straightens to face a peculiar sight.

In the very left corner of the office stands a large tree, tall and proud, its tip almost brushing the ceiling. From what Matt can gather, his radar sense a lot more cooperative without the distractions of snow and the outside city noise, the pine tree is covered with small round baubles, with some other ornaments sprinkled here and there – was that a candy cane?

"Oh, hey, Matt!" Karen's voice breaks into Matt's mind, and he turns towards her general direction. The sun streaming through the windows casts a glow around her figure, so Matt can gather that she's standing in front of her desk, facing him.

"Merry Christmas Eve!" she practically sings, thrusting a gift into Matt's arms. "Do you like the new tree?"

"Yes, the new tree, which we could afford only because Marci chipped in some of her money," Foggy adds, walking out of his office. "On the brighter side, this means that we've actually earned something from our last case."

Matt chuckles, greeting Foggy with a smile. "Well, at least with our trusty clientele, we won't have to buy Christmas dinner this year. Did Mrs. Dennis pay us in her famous chestnut pie again?" Although he already knows the answer, the smell of butter and pie filling and crust hangs in the air, stemming from a circular object snugly fit between what Matt can only assume is more food from previous clients. Karen laughs, Matt can hear her heartbeat flutter a little.

"Oh hey, I have something for you, dude," Foggy suddenly interrupts, heading back into his office. Matt confusedly looks at Karen's direction; he didn't know that the three of them were doing a gift exchange, and if he had, he probably would've actually gotten somebody to wrap his presents. And though he can't be sure, he thinks that Karen probably raised her eyebrow as well.

"Merry Christmas, Matt," Foggy says as his footsteps draw closer. Another wrapped box finds its way onto Matt's arms, who's now balancing his bag on one shoulder and trying to figure out how to balance the two boxes, both of which are fairly large.

"Thank you, Foggy. And thank you, Karen. Uh, I got something for you guys too, but they're in my bag…" he trails off and walks towards his office, brushing against the wall with his elbow, more out of habit than necessity. He hears Karen and Foggy follow him in, their feet shuffle against the hardwood floor, and Karen's heels giving out the occasional _click_.

As he sets the two boxes from his friends onto his desk, Matt reaches into his bag to brush his fingers against two packages. They're probably still covered in the shipment wrapping that the FedEx guy or Amazon guy put them in, and based on the snatches of conversations he's heard before, the packaging is quite sub-par. He hopes Foggy and Karen don't mind.

Speaking of the two of them, they're currently looking over his shoulder, Matt can hear their breathing close to his back. To save them from this torture, Matt spins around, his fingers tracing over the braille on the packaging to identify which one is for who. The smell of the plastic overwhelms his nose momentarily, and he internally winces a little.

As Foggy and Karen voice their gratitude, Matt is suddenly hit with an idea that evidently shows on his facial expression, as his two friends stop talking.

"Matt, what is it?" Karen asks curiously, midway through finishing a sentence.

"You have your thinking face on," Foggy supplies.

Matt feels a prick of indignation at that comment, though he makes sure to round the sharp edges that the emotion pokes into his voice. "I don't have a thinking face," he protests.

"You definitely do. If you could see it, you'd agree with us," Karen adds, her breath changing as she tries to hold in a laugh. "In all seriousness though, what're you thinking?"

Matt slowly smiles, taking a deep breath and allowing the Christmas spirit-infused office space, the smell of peppermint and eggnog, and the roaring of the winter wind outside the window to infuse him with some good holiday spirit.

"What do you say about a Christmas dinner at my place tonight?"

Karen's heart patters, a telltale sign of joy, while a catch in Foggy's breath tells Matt the answer before either of them can actually respond verbally.

It was settled, then. Dinner at the Murdock place, six p.m.

_The start of a Christmas song he would never forget._

"I didn't know you could cook," Karen's delighted voice finds its way into Matt's ears as his apartment door clicks shut. His two friends shrug off their coats, hanging them on the pegs lining the walls. Though he doesn't wish to brag, Matt admits to himself that the smells filling his home really is heavenly – and Foggy's growling stomach seems to agree, too.

Not that he cooked all of it, of course – the chestnut pie, for one, would never have been prepared in the two hours Matt had between leaving the firm and dinnertime.

"You've never seen the man cook?" Foggy asks, turning towards Karen. "We've been friends for so long!"

Karen shrugs. "I've been here a couple of times, but we usually get Indian down the street," she explains, settling down onto the couch. She surveys the mass of plates and food on the table in front of her, reminiscing the first time she set foot into Matt's apartment.

Foggy snorts, joining Karen at the makeshift dining table. "Well, he used to cook all the time at college. You'd be surprised, Matt's got a surprisingly particular palate."

Matt crosses from the kitchen to the living room, holding a bottle of wine and three glasses. "Well, it was either I cook or we starve," he rebuts, emptying his hands by placing the drink on the table.

"I didn't know you had a sensitive palate," Karen chips in, surprised. "You usually just eat whatever we bring in for lunch."

"How else do you think I got these muscles?" Matt jokes, a smile crinkling at his lips and eyes. He removes his glasses, setting them on the table in front of him. Though unfocused, his eyes shine with mirth.

"Speaking of muscles, have I ever told you about the time Matt tried to get me to work out with him?" Foggy adds, leaning in to grab a spoonful of rice. Matt lets out a snort, though he immediately tries to cover it up by coughing, and Foggy lightly hits Matt's knee. "Are you laughing at me already?"

"Yeah, and if I recall correctly, you were also still chasing after that girl that caused you to take Punjabi… you should talk about _that_ love story," Matt replies, taking a bite of chicken. The flavor explodes in his mouth, a perfect blend of savory with a tinge of sweet.

Foggy groans, but Karen's interested expression reveals that he's in for a long night of embarrassing stories. "Wait, that sounds interesting," she speaks up, her lips curling into a grin.

Foggy glares at Matt, although he knows his friend can't see it, but he's sure that Matt's senses – or basic EQ, really – can pick up on the false anger. "She was hot!" he protests, though Matt's laugh at the end of that phrase makes him chuckle too.

"You still can't say_ that_ in Punjabi, can you?" Matt shoots back, a memory from their college days resurfacing. Foggy opens his mouth to say a witty response, but soon decides to give up, defeated.

Karen laughs at his expression, a mix of utter humiliation and humor. "_That's_ why you took Punjabi?" She takes a bite of chicken, then points her fork at Foggy. "Would've pegged you for someone that thinks a little more about their course selection."

Foggy furrows his eyebrows, then replies "I'll take that as a compliment" against the background noise of Matt's laughter. Finally giving up all pretenses of a stoic façade, Foggy joins in on Matt and Karen's chuckles, which slowly fade away as the three friends dive back into their Christmas meal.

Karen sets down her knife and fork after a moment of amicable silence, the sound of metal against ceramic alerting both Foggy and Matt's attention. She gazes around the table at her friends, a blissful smile finding its way onto her face.

"What?" Matt asks, noticing how she has stopped eating.

"Oh, nothing. It's just—this makes me really happy. The three of us, having a meal together, having fun… it's how it should be." Karen allows herself another smile before taking another bite of chestnut pie.

Foggy returns the grin, glancing between Karen and Matt. "Yeah," he echoes.

Matt knows his friends are both looking at him (although they're probably both trying _not_ to look at him) and he lowers his eyes a little. Mixed emotions run through his mind, he knows that he doesn't deserve their kindness or their love, yet here he is, enjoying a full Christmas meal – something he hasn't experienced in years. His heart is full, his stomach too, but he still doesn't quite know the words to show that. He realizes, suddenly, that anything he says simply won't measure up to what his friends have given him.

He chooses to raise his wineglass, allowing a completely relaxed smile to appear. "To Nelson, Murdock, and Page," he says, and the three wineglasses touch together, letting out a _clink_ that somehow perfectly fits into the scent of pine and good food enveloping Matt's place.

And for the first time in a long time, Matt lets himself relax into the warmth of his friends. As the laughter starts up again, because of some corny Christmas pun that Foggy says (who then quickly claims his brother made it up, he's just repeating it) Matt is reminded of an old Christmas song he used to hear at church:

_I heard the bells on Christmas Day,_

_Their old familiar carols play,_

_And wild and sweet, the words repeat_

_Of peace on Earth, good will to men.  
_

Surrounded by the joy of two of the people he loves most, Matt allows the melody to sweep into his soul, capture the moment, and hold it forever.

_The quiet lyrics to a new beginning._


End file.
